


Quiet Control

by Pas_Cal



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Nothing explicit, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 02:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pas_Cal/pseuds/Pas_Cal
Summary: Klara is a rather dominant force. She always does as she pleases, and always stays in control. Francois can't help but wonder why that is.





	Quiet Control

“Why is it you’re never willing to give up control?”

Klara dragged her gaze over from the window toward the figure still sprawled out in bed. Francois looked at her quizzically, one arm pillowed beneath his head.

“Should it matter?” She leaned back in her chair, reaching out to tap the ash off the end of her cigarette.

“Indulge me,” Francois countered, “I’m curious.”

Klara stared at him for several long moments before her gaze settled back on the window, peering down at the pedestrians scampering through the city streets. She seemed to ignore him completely for a few lengthy minutes, but Francois could see the gears churning through her head despite her impassive expression.

“I just prefer it that way,” she finally replied, crossing her legs at the knee, “always have.”

He gave an irritated snort in response, rolling over onto his stomach to stare at the headboard. Klara finally stood when her cigarette had burned out and she snuffed it in the ash tray. She meandered about the room, picking up her clothes and slipping back into them silently.

“Were you taken advantage of?”

Klara shot him a sidelong glare, jaw tightening as she pulled her shirt over her shoulders.

“So you were.”

“It’s not your business,” she bit out harshly, turning to face him as he rolled over onto his back. He linked his fingers behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. “It’s not anyone’s business.”

“Yes, you’re rather adamant that everything about you remains shrouded in mystery. The very things that make you you aren’t anyone’s business.”

“As it should be.” Klara yanked her jeans up over her waist, doing up the zip and buttons before searching for her shoes. “Now stop prying.”

“Even after all the time we’ve spent together, you still refuse to divulge facts about your past? You know almost everything about me; it’s only fair I know a little about you.”

“That’s because you never stop running your mouth.”

“Please, I’m not Oliver.”

Klara sank into the edge of the bed, pulling her socks on. Francois watched as she finished redressing. She took a glimpse of herself in the mirror long enough to fuss with the mussed strands of pearly white. Briefly, Francois found himself wondering if she’d ever had it long. Throughout all those centuries, he'd only ever seen it cropped short.

“When did it happen?” He pressed. Klara remained silent, straightening her collar.

When she was done, she sat still on the edge of the bed, hands falling to rest in her lap. The gears were turning again as she weighed her options; to remain silent or finally disclose what information Francois was looking for.

“When I was in The Order,” she finally answered. “One of the soldiers found out I was pretending to pass as a boy.”

Francois let out a soft “ah”, watching as she stared forward rather distantly. There was a furrow in her brow as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “What happened to him?”

“I killed him.”

“Naturally.” Francois hummed. “And the scars on your throat?”

Klara shot him a piercing glare, hands fisting. “This isn’t an interview,” she ground out. He lifted his hands in surrender, hoping to abate her ire before it stretched too far.

“You can’t blame me for being curious,” he defended.

“Everyone is,” Klara stood, “but they’re smart enough to keep their mouths shut.” She checked her wrist watch briefly before catching his gaze once more.

“Was that the first time?” He pressed regardless, garnering a severe look from the other.

“It was the only time.” She snatched her jacket off the dresser, yanking it on rather harshly.

Francois watched in silence.

Always the enigma, she was. Klara was silent more than anyone else he knew. Distant. Calculating. Intimidating. She’d once commanded arguably one of the most notorious military nations and that very fact seemed to be engraved in her being; the way she stood straight and worked in a methodical manner. She was always punctual, always did her work in a timely and extraordinarily organized manner, and always kept her work environments disturbingly clean.

It was rare for her to even speak unless it was in private amongst those she considered friends, though Francois had his doubts she treated them as such. Acquaintances was a better term for it. Or perhaps Associates. It was hard to decide whether it was because she was quiet by nature, or because her voice was so rough and low.

It hadn’t always been that way. Before the Second World War she’d had a very lovely voice. Francois liked to imagine she would have had a beautiful singing voice had she taken up the hobby, but Klara wasn’t very musically inclined as far as he recalled.

People like themselves were very much capable of being cruel beings, but Francois had found humans could be decidedly more so. They all had scars to prove it.

“Klara,” he called her attention just as she reached for the doorknob. She stilled, shifting to look at him in irritation. “I understand you have your reasons, but shutting yourself out to everyone isn’t a healthy way to live. Even your brother hardly knows a thing about you, and he’s your family.”

“There’s no reason for me to talk about any of it; it’s in the past.”

“But it helps others understand you more. I’ve met some pretty reclusive people in my lifetime, but you, my dear, are certainly the worst I’ve seen.”

“So what?”

“So aren’t you unhappy? It must be awfully miserable living your life in solitude.”

She drew in a breath, looking for the briefest moments as if he’d struck a nerve. But her expression smoothed out just seconds later. “It’s safer,” Klara reasoned.

“It’s unhealthy,” Francois countered, “and it pushes people away. When’s the last time you spoke to your brother?”

Klara didn’t answer. Her grip loosed on the knob, gaze drifting to the floor.

“That’s what I thought.” He pushed himself upright, rubbing absently at a harsh bruise blooming over his shoulder. “Not everyone’s out to get you, Klara. You should give people a chance every once in a while.”

“I’ve no reason to.”

“Just try.”

Francois met her stare, marveling briefly at the deep red of her irises. Klara eventually averted her gaze, pulling the door open silently.

“Maybe,” she said, and slipped out into the hall without another word.


End file.
